


Spring Break

by Salr323



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Angst, F/M, Season/Series 06, TLC, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-18
Updated: 2014-01-18
Packaged: 2018-01-09 05:02:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1141749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salr323/pseuds/Salr323
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Jack gets sick, someone has to look after him.  Guess who?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spring Break

It was a bright spring morning, the kind that made Sam eager for something new. The scent of newly cut grass lingered in the dewy air, and the thin morning sunshine promised warmth ahead as spring slowly bloomed into summer.

Not that Sam would be around to appreciate it, she thought as she sped along the empty road. She'd be on G5T-297, getting her first peek at a technology like nothing the SGC had encountered before. Or so she was told. SG-5 had made first contact, and now SG-1 were due to head out and build a few bridges. She couldn't wait.

She slowed as she drove into the complex, and the shadow of the mountain swallowed her little car. Swinging into her usual parking spot she was surprised not to see O'Neill's truck already there. For all his demands that she get a life outside work, O'Neill was almost always the last to leave and the first to arrive. Not that he'd admit it.

Heading towards the elevators, Sam's mind returned to the adventure before her, giving no more thought to the colonel's absence. And it was only when she stepped into the briefing room, as eager as the first day she'd arrived, that she noticed again that he was missing. With a frown she turned to Teal'c. "Where's the Colonel?"

Teal'c raised a curious eyebrow. "I have not seen him."

Taking a seat, Sam said, "He's never late." Sudden visions of road traffic accidents sprang into her mind, but she repressed them with a forceful hand. She couldn't help it though. Whenever someone she...cared about…was late, her immediate thoughts were off disaster on the roads. She knew exactly where that particular demon came from, but it didn't make the gnawing dread any easier to bear.

At that moment, General Hammond appeared in the doorway with a sober look on his face. Sam braced herself, fingers clenching under the table. "I'm sorry, SG-1," he said, coming to stand at the head of the table, "but today's mission has to be delayed."

Sam blinked, and was thankful that Teal'c found his voice before her. "Is the due to Colonel O'Neill's absence?" 

Hammond nodded, ran a hand over his bald head and said, "Sick, apparently."

Sam's heart started racing, and it was only then that she realised she'd been holding her breath. "Sick?" she managed to ask. O'Neill was never sick.

The general raised his eyebrows. "He calls it a cold, although I managed to get him to confess to having passed out between his front door and his truck."

"He passed out?"

"I've sent Doctor Fraiser over to pay a house call." He smiled at them. "I know you're disappointed about the mission, but look upon this as an opportunity for some well-deserved down time."

Sam and Teal'c exchanged a look. Down time wasn't something either of them dealt with all that well. "Yes, sir," Sam replied after a moment, trying to sound positive. If she was lucky, no one would notice she was spending her down time in her lab.

The general got to his feet. "Dismissed," he told them, somehow making the word sound more friendly than the formality suggested.

She sighed. So much for spring mornings and new adventures; it looked like she'd be spending the next few days under the mountain.

***

The face that greeted Janet Fraiser when the door swung open was ashen. The only colour, other than the dark eyes bright with fever, was the graze on the side of his face - obviously where he'd hit the ground during his ridiculous attempt to get to work.

With a roll of her eyes, Janet took charge. "Colonel, I don't usually say this to my patients," she told him, taking him firmly by the arm, "but you look like hell."

"Thanks," came the feeble reply. The fact that it wasn't followed by some jibe about her own appearance spoke volumes.

"Bedroom?" she asked, pausing for a moment. Nothing. Not even a 'I thought you'd never ask'.

"Upstairs," was all he muttered.

One glance into the living room told her that O'Neill had been camped out on the sofa for a while - half-full glasses of water, an assortment of cold and flu medication, and half a rain forest of Kleenex were scattered all over the place.

"Come on," she said, tugging him towards the stairs. "You need to be in bed."

He didn't argue, and from the way he crawled up the stairs she suspected that the only reason he wasn't already there was because he couldn't face the climb.

When he at last flopped into bed, Janet got her first proper look at him. His fever was obviously high, face pale, and as he lay on his back he began to cough, a raw hacking sound that set a couple of alarm bells ringing. Placing a cool hand on his forehead she said, "How long have you had the cough?"

He peered at her blearily. "A week.two."

"Sore throat?" she asked, running her fingers down the side of his neck and feeling a slight swelling.

"Umm," he muttered, which she took as a yes.

"Aching limbs? Headache?"

He managed a feeble nod as she rummaged in her bag for her thermometer and popped it into his ear for a moment. Damn, that was high! "Have you taken anything?" she asked, remembering the chaos of the living room.

"Advil," he sighed. "Didn't do any good."

"When was your last dose?"

The colonel's eyes rolled. "Maybe this morning…can't remember. Last night?"

Great. "I'll give you something stronger," she told him. "But you'll have to wait a couple of hours before you take it."

But she wasn't sure he was listening. His eyes had drifted shut, despite the occasional cough that broke the silence of the room. "Colonel?" she called, crouching down next to the bed.

"Doc?" came the dopey reply.

"I don't like the sound of that cough, so I'm going to proscribe some antibiotics just in case it's a chest infection. They won't help with the flu, but I'll leave some ibuprofen to help manage the fever and other symptoms. You need to make sure you drink plenty of fluids, and...Colonel?" This time he really was asleep, the breath rattling in his lungs.

Janet sat back on her heels, her eyes roving over the bedroom and into the en-suite. It was a mess, clothes everywhere, and the distinctly unhealthy odour of the sick-room permeated everything. No doubt he'd thrown-up a couple of times, and the air was stuffy and unpleasantly acrid.

With a sigh, she stood up. She didn't like to leave him alone like this. Not that he was in any danger - O'Neill was as tough as they came and even a nasty case of influenza wasn't enough to do him any real damage. Nonetheless, there was nothing worse than being alone and sick. And someone had to make sure he took his meds on time.

She bent down and picked up a sock, with the intention of tidying a little before she left. But then she stopped. She had a better idea. A much better idea.

***

Time had a habit of slipping through Sam's fingers when she was working. She could glance at her watch at eight in the morning, and check it again five minutes later only to find it was lunch time. It wasn't a bad feeling, she just wished her days were longer.

But the utter absorption in her work was therapeutic; it cleansed her mind of all the difficult, unanswerable questions with which her thoughts were increasingly filled and allowed her the simple clarity of her work. Bliss.

The jarring blare of the telephone was so loud she absolutely started from her seat at the sound. And then, angry with herself and her caller, she snatched the receiver off the wall and snapped out an irritated, "Carter."

There was a pause, and then Janet's voice said, "Hi Sam. Am I interrupting?"

Running her fingers through her hair, Sam collected herself. "No. No.sorry. I was in the middle of something and the phone made me jump is all." And then, to divert the conversation from her abrupt manner, she said, "How was Colonel O'Neill this morning?"

"Actually, not so good," came the reply. "I'm still at his house."

A familiar knot of anxiety tightened in Sam's stomach. "Really? What's wrong?"

"It's just a bad case of flu, I think," Janet explained. "Maybe a chest infection. But he's pretty out of it, and I don't want to leave him alone."

Sam nodded to herself. "So you're going to bring him into the infirmary?" She smiled a little, even as she said it, remembering the last time Janet had suggested that option to O'Neill.

"Are you kidding?" Janet muttered down the phone. "Last time I tried that he swung for me with his crutch!"

Sam couldn't help but grin. "I remember."

"He's not so sick that it's worth the pain," Janet groused. And then, more lightly, she added, "I was hoping that you might be able to come over for a while. Maybe spend a night or two until he can get out of bed?"

The world ground to a screaming halt. Her? Spend a couple of nights at the colonel's house? Alone? "I don't think so," she said hurriedly, glad that Janet couldn't see the color that rose in her cheeks.

"Oh come on, Sam," Janet pleaded. "I can't stay and--"

"I'll ask Teal'c."

"Oh yeah, that would work," Janet replied dryly. "Come on, Sam…he needs a friend here."

Sam grimaced. "Janet - I don't know. We have to be careful about keeping our relationship--"

"Bullshit," Janet snapped. Sam almost dropped the phone in shock. "That's just an excuse, and you know it."

"It's not, it's--"

"What are you afraid of?" Janet pressed. "He's so sick he can hardly get out of bed on his own. Nothing is going to happen!"

"That's not what I meant!" Sam exclaimed hotly. "It's just…difficult to get too close. We try and keep our distance. Going to his house, staying there...it's close."

There was a long silence before Janet said, "I do understand. And I know you've been keeping your distance - we've all seen it. But, Sam, every friendship needs a little nurturing now and then. And this is a good opportunity, don't you think?"

***

Through the fog of fever, Jack thought he could hear voices. Which was strange, since he was alone. At least, he thought he was alone. He was lying on the sofa, wasn't he? Although…the sofa felt somewhat longer and wider than usual and--

"God, he looks awful." The voice was soft and familiar. It sounded a lot like Carter, but what the hell would she be doing at his house?

"You know," another voice replied, just as softly yet not quite as familiar, "most people walk into my infirmary and tell me they have flu when all they have is a bad cold. Colonel O'Neill is the first one to do it the other way around."

There was a moment of muted amusement. "It's really flu, then?"

"Looks like it. Make sure you wash your hands a lot, Sam. Don't want you catching it too."

"Sure," came the reply. And then, more gently, "I had flu once; he must feel awful."

"I can guarantee it."

There was a longer pause, and the sound of some rummaging. Slowly, Jack opened his eyes and found himself lying on his side in bed, gazing through heated vision at the top of Doctor Fraiser's head as she crouched close to his bed. "I'll leave the antibiotics with you," she was saying as she pulled a bottle from her bag. "He needs three doses a day. I'd say before meals, but I doubt he'll want to eat anything."

"Okay," came the other voice. Carter's voice. He'd recognise it anywhere. "What happened to his face?" she added, and he sensed her move closer to get a better view.

Rolling onto his back, he looked up into her slightly startled eyes and said, "The driveway jumped up and hit me."

She smiled, amused but never losing her habitual reserve. "How're you feeling, sir?"

He was too sick to be polite. "Like crap, Carter," he croaked. "What are you doing here? Fraiser training you up as a Doc?"

Her smile turned nervous, slightly ambiguous. "In a way," she replied. "She's asked me to hang out here for a couple of days, until you're feeling better."

Even through his fluey misery, Jack was able to feel surprise. "Carter - you don't need to--"

"Yes she does," the Doc snapped, as she closed her bag and stood up. "You're sick, colonel. You need someone to." She shrugged. "You just need someone. And Sam volunteered." The wide-eyed look on Carter's face belied Fraiser's words, but the Doc ignored it and carried on. "If you don't want her to stay, you can come with me back to the infirmary."

"What's option, C?" he groused.

"Teal'c," Janet told him firmly, arms folded across her chest.

His eyes drifted back towards Carter, whose distinctly uncomfortable posture told him that she might be feeling a little unwanted. "I'll take Carter," he replied, feeling sleep pulling at him again. "She's easier on the eyes."

God, he thought vaguely, as he sank back down into muggy darkness, did I really just say that?

***

It was strange, to be walking alone around the colonel's silent house, while he slept obliviously upstairs. She'd been there before, but only a couple of times. And never on her own. His kitchen was larger than she'd remembered - she'd always pictured him as a TV-dinner kind of guy - but then again, her kitchen was pretty big too and she hadn't cooked in months. Nosily, she peeked into a couple of cupboards and was surprised to see more in the way of staple cooking ingredients that she'd expected. No Kraft Macaroni and Cheese in the O'Neill house.

The kitchen was also something of a mess, with unwashed dishes stacked in the sink and the dishwasher half-full of clean things. Deciding to come back to that later, she made her way quietly into the living room. She'd always liked this room; the fireplace and floor-to-ceiling windows gave it a relaxing air that was comforting. A half-finished chess game lay discarded on a small table, half-buried beneath an avalanche of used Kleenex. Charming. A couple of pillows and a rumpled blanket were crushed into the sofa, along with a the crumbs from some barely nibbled crackers. It painted a pretty pathetic picture, and Sam could see why Janet had called her over. It was tough being sick on your own, especially this sick.

She stopped by the fireplace, smiling a little at the awards and certificates displayed on the mantel. O'Neill wasn't a boastful man, but he was proud where he had a right to be. Sam didn't need any proof to convince her of his abilities, but nonetheless she found herself impressed. There were no pictures though, no family photos. She'd never heard him talk about his parents, and only rarely did he mention Charlie. Very rarely. It seemed that he kept that part of his life as hidden at home as he did at work. It was strange, Sam decided, but not atypical. O'Neill was one of the most private men she'd ever known.

Her lazy meander took her next to the bookshelves. She'd never paid a lot of attention to them before, but she found herself surprised that there were so many shelves. And not the kind of bookshelves stacked with books that had never been read. These books all looked well-thumbed, the spines cracked and folded. It was an eclectic mixture; plenty on military tactics and logistics, most of which she recognised from her Academy days. A whole stack of novels, thrillers mostly. She pulled one off the shelf and leafed through it; not really her taste, but somehow the idea of the colonel reading any kind of novel was surprising. Next to the thrillers was a half-shelf of outsized books, which she instantly recognised as comic strips. Now that, she supposed, was what she had been expecting.

Sam was a little ashamed that she'd underestimated the man, but for some reason O'Neill seemed to enjoy the thick-skulled-jar-head persona he often adopted. She had no idea why, because his actions in the field always betrayed his intelligence and no one made colonel without a few smarts.

Amid the shelf of comic strip books, Sam's eye was caught by another document, ring-bound in black. It had the familiar look of academia, and she reached out and pulled it off the shelf. Her eyes widened as she read the title: Collaborative Planning and Decision Support for Demand Forecasting in a Battlefield Environment, Masters Thesis prepared by Captain Jonathan O'Neill, July 1983.

"And he tells me *I* babble," she muttered to herself as she flicked through the pages. "Wow."

As if sensing her intrusion, a loud thump echoed from above, followed by a muted groan. Dropping the paper on the coffee table, she bolted for the stairs and raced up and into his bedroom. The bed was empty.

"Colonel?" She span around, only to see movement from the floor on the far side of the bed.

"Ah...shit." came a plaintive moan.

Cautiously moving around the bed, Sam saw O'Neill flat on his back with his eyes closed. If she'd thought he looked pale before, he was white now. Even his lips were grey. "What happened?" she asked, keeping her distance and suddenly very aware that he was only wearing boxers and a t-shirt.

"Bathroom," he whispered.

Sam glanced towards the bathroom. "You need to.?"

"Yeah."

"Oh." She paused. "Did you pass out again?"

He opened his eyes and glared through the fever. "Something like that."

Sam crouched down in front of him. "I'm meant to be here to help you, sir. Why didn't you call me?"

Closing his eyes again, he grumbled, "Because I have some pride left?"

She smiled at that. "Don't be stupid. I've had the flu, I know what it's like. Let me help you."

He hated it. She could see it in every line on his milky face. He hated seeming weak, hated accepting help. But nonetheless, he submitted quietly enough as she helped him to his feet and guided him towards the bathroom. Once inside, he gripped the sink with both hands and dismissed her with a curt "Thanks" that brooked no argument.

"Umm," Sam replied as she backed out of the bathroom, "you should probably sit down to."

His dark eyes, set against his too-pale face, flashed fire. "Close the door," he growled. And she did so, smiling slightly. It wasn't that his situation amused her, but there was certainly something liberating about seeing him so vulnerable. It set their usual relationship on its head; try as he might, he couldn't be the hard-nosed commander when he could barely keep himself upright. The power was in her hands, she realised, almost for the first time since she'd known him. They weren't in the field, there was no looming danger, the command structure wasn't relevant. He was sick, and she was helping him. As a friend.

The notion set something buzzing in the back of her mind, a pulse of adrenaline that she knew was dangerous. And she was suddenly reminded of their uncomfortable confrontation on the beach outside the Goa'uld Pleasure Palace; "If you think I'm keeping that up, you've got another thing coming!"

That was how she felt now. Everything was starting to turn upside-down. And the scariest part of it was that she found she enjoyed it..

***

Jack awoke next to the profoundly comforting sound of the television burbling quietly downstairs. And for a moment confusion sent him back to his childhood home, sleeping in the evenings and half-listening to his parents' quiet laughter through the closed door of his bedroom. He opened his eyes and blinked. The late afternoon sunshine was casting long shadows across the floor and over abandoned clothes, reflecting brightly on half a glass of water at his bedside. Reality slowly returned.

He was home, and Carter was downstairs. Sweet. At least it would have been, if his head hadn't felt as though the world-champion jackhammer competitions were taking place inside his skull, and muscles he never knew he had weren't aching so bad he could hardly lay still. God, he felt like crap.

With an effort he rolled onto his back, sending his head thumping even more loudly. He was hot, his sheets tangled around him, and he couldn't remember the last time he'd showered. It felt like weeks, although the rational half of his brain reminded him it had only been a couple of days.

Downstairs the TV talked quietly to itself, and Jack found himself truly grateful for the company. He hated the cold silence of his house; it echoed with memories too painful to ignore. But just knowing that she was down there brought a warmth to his heart that was deeply affecting. The emotion was more powerful than he liked to admit, even to himself. But the fever must have knocked out most of his usual defences because he found himself smiling; her presence alone was bringing a life to his house that it had never witnessed in all the years he'd lived there.

Soft footsteps outside his room sent his heart jumping ridiculously, and he prayed the feeling didn't show on his face as the door cracked open and Carter peeked around the corner. She smiled when she saw him. "Hey," she said softly. "How are you feeling? Any better?"

"Some," he agreed, and he wasn't lying. Her smile always made him feel better.

Carter stepped fully into the room, and he realised she was carrying something. A plate, upon which was balanced a tall glass of water - with ice - and a piece of toast. "I've got your meds," she told him, stepping over a pair of his discarded socks as she approached the bed. "Janet said you should eat something, if you can."

He couldn't stop himself from smiling at her. "One day you're gonna make someone a great mom," he said. And then he stopped as he saw her look sharply away, obviously unsure if his words had held a significance beyond the surface meaning.

"Right," she muttered, covering her unease with words. "Not for a while, I hope."

"No," he agreed, not entirely sure he understood her meaning either. Not for a while.? Was she implying something? Or was it just an off-the-cuff comment?

They lapsed into silence, as had grown customary over the past year or more whenever their conversation had grown ambiguous and confusing. After a moment, Carter cleared her throat. "Can you sit up?" she asked.

He obliged silently, levering himself up a little. But even that small movement set his head spinning. "If the Goa'uld ever get hold of the flu virus," he told her bleakly, "they'll take over the planet in a day. Anubis could walk in here right now, and I wouldn't give a damn."

Her smile returned as she held out a piece of toast. "Good job you've got me to fight the bad-guys for you."

Something about the tone of her voice intrigued him. "For me?" he asked, nibbling bravely on corner of toast.

"Figuratively," she muttered, looking as if she'd given something away, although, for the life of him, he couldn't think what. And then, changing the subject, she held out her hand and said, "Here, you need to take these."

Obediently he knocked back the pills, wincing as they scratched down his sore throat. "Look," he said, after a couple of sips of water, "now that Fraiser's not here, you don't have to stay. I'm sure you have better things to be doing."

She eyed him carefully for a moment before she said, "Actually, I don't."

"Oh." He was surprised, and couldn't help feeling...pleased. "Really?"

Carter shrugged and came to perch on the end of the bed, her weight dipping his feet towards her. "You look like you need a friend right now. What's more important than that?"

"Oh, I don't know," he said softly, "there always seems to be something."

A frown touched her brow, and he felt a sudden pang of guilt. "Is that how it seems?" she asked quietly. "I guess I can see how it might."

"No," he assured her. "I didn't mean that. It's just...that's just the way it has to be, isn't it?"

She didn't answer, but rose silently to her feet. "You should get some more rest," she told him, picking up the half-eaten piece of toast that had somehow found its way onto the bed. "Let me know if you need anything."

He nodded, wishing he could think of something to say. It was only when she was at the door that he thought of the obvious. "Carter?"

She turned, her face guarded but still warm. "Yeah?"

"Thank you. For staying. It's good to know you're here."

"You're welcome," she replied, smiling slightly. "That's what friends are for, right?"

"Right," he agreed as she slipped through the door and left him alone. He gazed through the window, into the darkening world, for a long time after she left, thinking how strangely intimate their conversation had been. And at the same time how distant. It seemed to sum up the essence of their relationship; on the one hand, closer than they should be, on the other so far apart that it seemed they could never cross the gulf that lay between them. It was a melancholy thought that did little to help his aching head and limbs. But as he drifted slowly towards sleep, a golden tinge brushed his despondent thoughts with light as he realised that, throughout their entire conversation, she hadn't once called him 'sir'. He smiled as he drifted off - perhaps hope wasn't entirely over.

***

The next day found Sam in the grocery store, standing with a half-full cart and staring at the cold and flu remedies. She picked one up and studied the back, checking the ingredients. Surely one of them would do some good?

"Husband sick, huh?" a voice said from her side. Looking over, Sam saw a woman of about her own age leaning on a cart, staring at the medicines. A grinning toddler swung her feet from the cart's seat, chewing on a large piece of bread.

"Umm," Sam muttered, before the woman carried on.

"Men are such babies, aren't they? One little sniffle and they can't get out of bed for a week." She picked up two packets of Tylenol and threw them into the cart.

Sam smiled at her. "Actually," she said, "this time he really does have flu." It was only after the words had left her mouth that she realised that she'd just referred to O'Neill as her husband.

"Poor you," the woman replied with a grin. "He'll be more work than this one." She tousled the toddler affectionately on the head.

"He's not so bad," Sam smiled, feeling oddly dizzy at the unwitting deception. "Considering how bad he must feel."

The woman laughed, and said, "Well, you've found a rare one there!"

"Yeah," Sam agreed, still smiling. "I guess I have."

As the woman nodded her farewell and headed down the aisle, Sam found herself staring sightlessly at the cold remedies. Why had she done it, she wondered. It had seemed so natural to slip into the lie, certainly easier than trying to explain the more complicated truth. But convenience wasn't the reason. No, the truth was she was enjoying this little domestic fantasy and was only too happy to play along with it. Glancing into her cart, she looked at the pile of magazines she'd thought he might find interesting, the grapes, the crackers, the ice cream he might like when he was feeling better and wondered what the hell she was getting into.

Of course, what she should have done was return it all to the shelves and crawl back into her metaphorical uniform. But she didn't. Instead she threw three different types of cold cure into her cart and went in search of his favourite pizza.

***

By the time she returned, the colonel was awake and bored. He looked like he might be feeling a little better too, because he smiled when she peeped into his bedroom and the glazed look of fever had left his eyes.

"Carter," he said, rolling over onto his side to get a better look. "Where've you been?"

"Shopping," she told him. She sat herself down at the foot of his bed again and began to unload the bag. "Something to read," she announced as she offered him the selection of magazines.

Still laying down, he began to brows. "National Geographic," he nodded. "Cool." And then, "Hey! National Enquirer! Thanks." Finally, "Carter? FHM?!"

She grinned as he peered at her over the top of the magazine. "What?" she asked. "You don't like it?"

"I just read it for the articles," he muttered as he disappeared behind it once more.

Chuckling to herself, Sam continued unloading. "Ben and Jerry's - oh, that should be in the freezer. Grapes. Advil Flu and Body Ache caplets, Tylenol Flu Gelcaps, Alkaseltza Plus."

"Carter!" he interrupted, watching her with both amusement and confusion. "What are you doing?"

She shrugged. "Just trying to help," she told him.

He put his magazines to one side and fixed her with a serious look. "I.I appreciate it," he told her, although his words were interrupted by a yawn. "Although what I really need right now is a shower." His eyes slid to the bathroom, as if assessing the feasibility of the endeavour.

Sam wasn't convinced it was a good idea. "How about I run you a bath instead?" she offered.

"I hate baths."

"You want me to have to hold you upright in the shower?" She regretted the words the moment they left her lips. "Ah, not that I'm offering," she hastily added, feeling herself blush.

O'Neill raised an eyebrow, a glimmer of his usual self-evident in his pale face as he stared hungrily at her. "Now there's a thought," he said quietly, holding her gaze until Sam was forced to look away.

"Try sitting up," she advised as she got to her feet. "Slowly. I'll run a bath."

Her mind was spinning as she started the water running and looked around for anything that resembled bubble bath. Nothing; the colonel obviously wasn't a bubble bath kind of guy, which was no surprise. Closing the lid on the toilet she sat down and watched the water stream into the tub. The way he'd looked at her just then! So openly suggestive, so heated. He'd never looked at her like that before...well, perhaps once, just after the strange time-loop phenomena he and Teal'c had experience. But never since. The heat in his eyes had been intense, and very seductive. This strange intimacy they were sharing was bringing other things to the surface, just as she'd feared it would. This was *exactly* why she had to keep her distance from him. And yet. She was getting such a profound sense of satisfaction from simply being there for him. For the first time in a long time she felt as though she'd stopped swimming against the tide, she'd stopped struggling and the relief was intense.

"Carter?" Jack's call from the bedroom sounded more pleased than alarmed, so she didn't jump to her feet.

As she strolled back into the bedroom he was sitting on the edge of the bed with a satisfied smile on his face. "Ha!" he said in a tone of defiance. "See?"

"Very impressive," she replied dryly. "The bath's almost done. Let me find you some clean clothes."

He looked embarrassed. "I can do that," he muttered, standing up and then sitting straight back down with a feeble, "Oh…crap."

Biting back a smile, Sam starting pulling open drawers. Finding what she needed she turned around, holding up her discovery. "Boxers or briefs?" she asked, one of each dangling from each hand.

"Carter!" O'Neill objected, and then seeing that she wouldn't be dissuaded muttered. "Boxers."

She threw them onto the bed, and continued her hunt for a clean t-shirt. "There's no need to be embarrassed," she told him. "I grew up with my Dad and Mark, remember? I know what men's underwear looks like."

"Yeah," he muttered from behind her. "Well, that's not really the point, is it?"

Not entirely sure she understood his meaning, Sam opted for silence as the wisest response. She carried his clean clothes into the bathroom, and then turned to face him. "Do you need me?"

He looked at her, something flashing deep in his eyes. "Actually, I think I do," he replied, with a gravitas beyond his apparent meaning. "But I can probably make it to the bathroom on my own." Confused by his thinly-veiled words, Sam just watched as he carefully swayed his way towards her. He gave a watery smile and sat down on the closed toilet. "Just waiting for the world to stop spinning," he explained.

Sam smiled, taking a step closer and crouching down in front of him. "Are you sure you don't need some help?" she asked, trying to assure him that it wouldn't be awkward if he did.

"Go put the ice-cream in the freezer," he suggested. "I'll be fine."

She smiled at that, reaching out and touching his knee in reassurance as she rose to her feet. The gesture seemed to startle them both, and again she found herself staring at him in a complicated silence. She cleared her throat. "I, um...I'll be outside if you need me," she said, and hurriedly turned away, closing the bathroom door behind her.

Since when had she started touching her CO like that? Since now, obviously!. She sighed, raking a hand through her hair as she gazed around Jack's bedroom. His sheets were crumpled and tangled, and clothes lay across the floor as if discarded in haste - presumably when he'd first become sick. Trying to tell herself that what she was doing was perfectly in-keeping with their professional relationship, Sam picked up his clothes before heading out in search of clean bed-linen. She was meant to be looking after him, wasn't she? That's what Janet had told her to do, after all. She was just following orders.

***

Despite feeling like death warmed-over, soaking in the bath did something to alleviate the aching in his muscles and the pounding in his head. But it didn't do anything to quell the rising sense of excitement he felt when his mind drifted inexorably towards Sam.

Sam.

She was out there, beyond the door, in his house. She'd brought him magazines, and grapes, and flu remedies. She'd sat on the edge of his bed. And she'd touched him. She never touched him, not any more. He wondered what could have changed, barely daring to hope that their current forced intimacy was having as strong an effect on her as it was on him.

Having her around was like a dress rehearsal for the life they couldn't have. It was at once bitter and sweet, and as unreachable as ever. But lying in bed, listening to the TV downstairs, to the quiet bumps and clangs from the kitchen, to the shower running down the hall…everything spoke of togetherness, of sharing his life in a way he'd almost forgotten. It reminded him of how well marriage had suited him, but it didn't make him nostalgic for Sara. Instead it made his longing for Sam all the more urgent, all the more overpowering. He hadn't been lying earlier when he'd told her he needed her, and he hadn't been talking about her assistance to reach the bathroom either.

He needed her. Every hour that passed brought it home to him. He needed her in his life, fully in his life. All this denial and repression was doing neither of them any good; it was wrong, it was unhealthy. Hell, it was practically immoral! When two people fell in love they were supposed to express their feelings, not suffocate the life out of them. It was wrong, he realised, in every sense it was wrong.

"Tell that to Hammond," he muttered to himself, sinking lower into the water. "And Sam," he added quietly. Bending the rules for her own convenience was not something Major Carter would ever do. He admired her for it, even if he wished she could be a little more flexible..

A gentle tap on the door penetrated the steam. "Jack?" she called.

His heart stuttered for a moment. Jack? Had she just called him Jack?

"Are you okay?" she pressed. "Sir?"

There it was, back again. Sir. Recovering himself, and sitting up straighter he called, "I'm fine, Carter."

There was a pause, and then, "Let me know if you need any help."

Smiling at that, he pushed himself woozily to his feet. The world swayed, but it would take a hell of a lot more than that for him to ask Carter to help him out of the bath! Still battling the spinning room, Jack managed to find a towel, dry himself, and struggle into the clothes Carter had laid out. But by the time he opened the bathroom door his vision was definitely beginning to tunnel. Without a word he headed straight for the bed and flopped down on his stomach, closing his eyes and sucking in cool breaths as he battled the faintness that plagued him.

After a moment he felt the bed dip a little, and then gentle hands lifted his head. "Here," Carter said, sliding a dry towel under his damp hair, "keep the bed dry."

Nauseous and dizzy, he didn't risk speech as he continued to breath steadily. And she didn't move from where she was sitting next to him on the bed. Instead she felt her hand again, resting cooly on his forehead. "You're very hot," she said softly. But unlike Fraiser's quick, professional touch, Sam's hand lingered on his forehead her thumb gently stroking the point between his eyebrows.

Jack's heart filled to bursting. God, he thought bleakly, does she have any idea how long it's been since someone touched me like this? Seven, maybe eight, years - when things had still been good with Sara. Emotion welled up in his heart. The moment was too intense to ignore, so he reached out and found her other hand, clasping it tight. Sam sucked in a little surprised breath, but she didn't pull away. Instead, her fingers tightened around his, and her gentle caress on his forehead continued. Neither of them spoke, but as the dizziness and nausea at last began to subside, Jack opened his eyes.

She was watching him with open affection, and for only the second time in his life he saw her heart in her eyes. "Feeling better?"

"Yeah." But he didn't let go of her hand, and she didn't stop stroking his forehead. "Sam." he began, not sure what he wanted to say, only that he wanted to say something.

But she shook her head. "Don't make it complicated," she warned him. "Please?"

I love you. The words beat in his mind and tingled on his lips, he wanted to say it so badly! But he knew she didn't want to hear it. It was too complicated, it would change too many things, threaten too much. And so he simply nodded and closed his eyes, letting the moment drift between them until at last sleep stole up on him once more.

***

Sam sat in the deep armchair, legs curled beneath her, staring over her half-eaten dinner towards the swaying trees outside. She knew she should be angry at herself, or afraid. But she wasn't. Instead she was trying to understand the fluttering in her stomach, and the ache in her heart. She'd sat there with him for over an hour, holding his hand and stroking his head. She knew it was ridiculous, that the sharp desire to care for him was even potentially dangerous. What would happen if he was injured in the field? Would her decisions be swayed by these powerful and unprofessional feelings? She shivered at the thought. But she knew it was possible.

And yet, she couldn't help feeling an exhilarating sense of liberation. It was as if she'd been holding her breath for years, and was at last able to breath freely. It felt good, which was doubly dangerous. Freedom was notoriously seductive; once people had a taste of it there was no going back. It was the same in politics as love, she suspected. And the more freedom she allowed herself, the harder it would become to return to the austere repression she had forced on them both the day Martouf had died.

Suddenly, from upstairs, she heard footsteps. Rising suspiciously, she walked to the bottom of the stairs just in time to see Jack standing unsteadily at the top. He was holding onto the rail with grim determination, and his face was as pale as ever. Sam frowned. "What are you doing?"

"I'm bored," he told her, struggling for a smile. "Thought I'd come and see what you were doing."

Sam rolled her eyes, and ran up the stairs before he plunged headfirst down them. "I don't think so," she said, taking his arm and pulling him back towards the bedroom.

He didn't object as she pushed him firmly back down onto the bed. Instead he lay down with a sigh, still staring up at her. "You changed the sheets," he said, obviously noticing for the first time.

"Yeah," she smiled.

"Thanks."

There was a pause, and he held her in a long look. Turning awkwardly away, she said, "Do you want something else to read? I could bring the TV up if you--"

"No," he sighed. "I hate TV, and I'm too tired to read."

Sam perched at the foot of the bed again. "You should probably sleep--"

"I'm bored of sleeping!"

"Well," she began, trying to think of some other way to entertain him. "Perhaps you--"

"Stay," he said. "Stay and talk to me, Carter."

She blinked. "Oh. Okay." In the back of her mind, alarm bells rang silently. Keep your distance, Sam! But she ignored them. "Talk. About what?"

"Whatever," he shrugged, smiling at her. "You choose."

Watching him watch her, Sam thought for a moment before she said, "How about Collaborative Planning and Decision Support for Demand Forecasting in a Battlefield Environment?"

His smile faded and the barest hint of a flush touched his pale face. "What kind of geek would know anything about that?"

"Got me," Sam replied, pulling her legs up so that she sat cross-legged at the end of the bed. "I didn't understand one word in ten."

"You read it?!"

His astonishment was complete, making Sam grin. "I thought it was very interesting, actually. Obviously some of the scenarios were out of date, technologically speaking, but it was written back when--"

"Back when you were in high school," he groused good-naturedly. "I hope you noticed how I foretold the importance of computers in forecasting?"

She nodded. "I have to say, I'm impressed."

Jack grinned. "Well," he said expansively, "there really is a first time for everything, isn't there?"

***

Playing chess while practically flat on your back was not the easiest thing to do, Jack reflected as he studied the board. Carter was winning, which was kind of unusual, but he considered raging flu a good enough excuse for his lacklustre performance. From where his head rested on the pillow he was almost nose-to-nose with his Rook, but the perspective didn't help. Through the pieces he saw Sam sprawled over the other half of the bed, cracking a yawn as she waited for his move.

"Patience," he counselled, and not for the first time.

"We could finish it in the morning," she suggested. Also not for the first time.

"No," he muttered, still studying his next move. "I've got it." He felt the bed shift as Sam rolled onto her back, sending a couple of remaining pawns tumbling. "Hey!" he protested, standing them back upright.

Sam just yawned her response, and he returned to his contemplation of the board. He was the master tactician, he told himself, there had to be a way to pull victory out of the jaws of defeat. He did it at work all the time, after all. At last he found a strategy, it was thin, but at least it was something. With a slow smile he moved his King and glanced over the pieces with a triumphant grin. But the grin softened immediately into an affectionate smile when he saw that Sam had dosed off completely. With one arm flung over her eyes she looked very comfortable amid the large pillows of his bed, her chest rising and falling with the even rhythm of sleep.

Jack sat up, ignoring the dizziness. Sam Carter was asleep on his bed. The thought gave him an adolescent satisfaction that he knew was unworthy of him. He knew he should wake her up, too. But.God, he didn't want to. Carefully, he put the chess pieces away and lowered the board to the floor. Still she didn't wake up. He whispered a very half-hearted, "Carter?" but she didn't stir.

Moving slowly, Jack lay back down and gazed up at the ceiling. She was right next to him, her soft breathing filling the room like forbidden music. He felt the tug of sleep himself, alongside the insistent desire to be with her. There was nothing really wrong, he reasoned. They slept close together off-world all the time. And the way he felt, there was no danger of anything inappropriate happening!

Satisfied with his logic, Jack reached over and turned off the light next to his bed. The room plunged into darkness and Jack smiled as he lay there at her side, listening to her breathing and battling the instinct to reach out and hold her.

***

Cool morning light filled the room when Sam woke at last. She felt warm and rested and unusually peaceful, and she sighed happily as she opened her eyes.

And then she stopped breathing, when she found herself nose to nose with O'Neill, his dark eyes watching her as if he'd been awake for hours. "Hey," he smiled, with the kind of quiet intimacy she'd sometimes dreamed of between them.

For a madly confused moment, Sam wondered if her memory was hiding something from her. Why was she waking up in his bed? Why was he looking at her with so much warmth and affection? As her mind struggled, she spoke the first words that made it to her lips. "What time is it?"

"Just after seven," he replied. "You going somewhere?"

Sam sat up, relieved to find herself fully dressed. "What happened?" she asked, raking a hand through her hair. Of all the stupid things she'd done in her life, waking up in her CO's bed had to rank up there with the worst of them!

Jack was still watching her, although his former warmth was tempered with wariness now, as if he was afraid he'd done wrong. "Relax. You fell asleep. Maybe I should've woken you, but--"

"Oh, you should have!" she agreed, sliding down from the bed and trying to straighten her sleep-tangled clothes.

He looked as confused as she felt. "Nothing happened," he replied defensively. "I swear."

Sam shook her head and looked away, trying to gather her scattered emotions. She'd felt so warm, so peaceful. "That's not the point," she muttered as she walked around the bed towards the door.

"Then tell me what is," Jack pressed, the frustration in his voice suggesting that he may be feeling a little better.

Sam paused, not wanting to argue. "This," she said, gesturing between them, "us...being like this. Close. That's the point."

Her explanation was so inarticulate that she wasn't surprised when he simply frowned and said, "You think it's a problem?"

"Yeah!" she said with such emphasis it was almost a shout. "This is precisely what we can't do, isn't it? This is what we've been avoiding since…you know."

He did know, but while he might have backed off before, today he seemed unusually forthright. Perhaps it was the fever talking. "It won't go away, you know," he told her. "It's always there, isn't it? Every day. Every time we go through the gate, every time we come back alive. It's always there."

Sam looked away. "You seem to be feeling better," she said, almost wincing at the ice she heard in her voice. "I should probably go." Without looking at him, she hurried towards the door.

But he wasn't letting her escape that easily, and with more speed than was good for him he jumped out of bed and grabbed hold of her arm. "Don't," he said, half a warning and half a plea. "Don't go."

She turned, his hold on her arm heated and affecting. "I think I should," she replied. "If I stay...it'll be harder to go back to how it has to be. Sir."

"It's wrong," he told her, clearly struggling to articulate something. "I've been thinking about it, and it's wrong. It's…oh…crap."

Sam actually saw the blood drain from his face as he turned a deathly shade of grey. "Jack?" she said, reaching out to steady him. "Sit down."

He did so, but his grip on her arm never loosened. "Don't go," he repeated as he sank back down into bed. "We can talk. Please Sam."

Her resolve, her anxiety, and her good intentions all evaporated with that one little word. Sam. "Okay," she said softly, "just until you're feeling better."

"Good enough," he murmured, dark eyes staring out of his pale face. "Good enough for now."

His hold on her arm loosened as Sam sank to the floor at the side of the bed, but he didn't let go. And she found she didn't want him too. The feelings of warmth and happiness with which she'd awoken returned, a shadow of themselves touched now with cold reality. It was painful, to be so close and yet denied the intimacy she craved. With a sigh of weariness and resignation, Sam let her head come to rest against Jack's arm where it lay on the bed. She thought he was asleep until she felt his other hand lightly brush through her hair before coming to rest on her head, holding her close. She felt tears fill her eyes at his tender gesture, and thought her heart would break with the need to give in to her feelings.

"We'll be okay," he told her softly, stroking her hair. "I swear to God, Carter. We'll be okay."

***

Five days later, Jack was pottering around the kitchen. He still felt like a wet rag, but at least he could stand up without passing out. Carter was out on the deck, soaking up the spring sunshine. The light turned her hair fairy-tale gold, and he couldn't help but stand and watch her through the window as he sipped his coffee. She was beautiful, by any standards. But unless you knew her courageous, loyal heart you only saw the surface. He felt privileged to know her, blessed to have her friendship, and touched by the divine to be cared for by such a woman.

Walking slowly, he pushed open the screen door and stepped out onto the deck. It was his first breath of fresh air since the day he'd passed out in his driveway, and it felt good to clear the fuzz from his head. Carter looked around, startled by the noise of the door swinging shut. She pulled her sunglasses off and stared at him suspiciously. "You feel okay?"

He waved away her concern with a lazy hand. "I've felt worse."

But nonetheless it was with a sigh of relief that he sat down in the chair next to hers and gazed out over the yard. The grass needed cutting, he noted. Carter remained silent, but the small smile on her lips told him she was content. Since the morning that she'd woken in his bed, things had been different between them. It was nothing overt, but he felt the shift; walls had come down, silently and unheralded. There was a new understanding and acceptance of the feelings they shared, although they still remained unvoiced and unconsummated. They simply were.

Closing his eyes, Jack let the spring sunshine warm his face as he leaned back in his chair. "So," he said after a while, "you gonna let Fraiser know I'm back on my feet?"

"She's signed you off for another week," she told him. "She said flu never lasts less than two weeks."

He nodded without opening his eyes. "So I guess you'll be heading home, Ms. Nightingale?"

"I guess."

He opened one eye and looked at her. She was still staring out into the face of the sunshine. "You don't have to," he said softly. "I've enjoyed the company."

"I'll come over," she replied, although the smile had left her face, darkening her features like a cloud across the sun. "Make sure you're doing okay."

"I'll look forward to it." And then, out of nowhere, he simply said, "We should do this again."

At last she turned her head and looked at him. "Do what?"

"This," he said, waving at nothing in particular. "Hang out. Spend time together."

Carter sighed. "It would be nice."

"I've still never managed to tempt you to my cabin," he teased gently.

She smiled again. Softly. "Don't think I'm not tempted," she replied. "But the last few days have shown me exactly how dangerous it would be."

He couldn't help it. A grin slid onto his face. "Don't think you could keep your hands off me, huh?"

Her eyes widened, shocked at his blatant reference to the fierce attraction they both struggled to hide. But then she grinned too, shaking her head. "Don't flatter yourself. I just meant the boredom might drive me insane."

For a fraction of a moment he thought she was serious, but then he saw the laughter in her eyes and grinned back at her. "I'm sure we could keep each other entertained," he replied, with a suggestive twitch of an eyebrow.

Carter blushed as she rose to her feet. "Not in this reality," she told him with a rueful smile. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her car keys. "I guess I should be--"

"Why not?" he asked abruptly. "Why not this reality?"

"You know why not."

He shrugged. "Actually," he said, standing up slowly and taking a step towards her, "the more I think about it, the more I think the frat regs are just a big roadblock in the way of something that's...inevitable."

Despite his closeness, Sam didn't move back. But her voice sounded slightly breathless as she whispered, "Inevitable?"

"You must feel it too," he said, edging even closer. Close enough to kiss her, had he possessed the courage.

She shook her head. "Doesn't matter. If we want to stay on SG-1 this can't happen."

"And what if we don't?" he countered. "What if we want to shake things up? Break the mould. Change things."

He'd surprised her. Shocked her even. "No," she whispered. "We can't. The team needs us, the SGC needs us. Especially now. Especially after Daniel."

Jack looked away, her words catching him at his weakest point. "No one's indispensable," he told her, although her mention of their lost friend made him query the platitude.

"We are," she replied quietly, without a hint of arrogance. A simple fact. Her hand reached out and touched his wrist. "We're indispensable. Especially now."

Letting her warm fingers slide down his arm until he held her hand, Jack nodded slowly. "Perhaps," he admitted reluctantly. "But it won't always be that way."

She smiled a little and squeezed his fingers. "I hope not."

They stayed like that, silently holding hands in the spring sunshine until a notion catapulted into Jack's head with such force that he had no choice but to immediately give it voice. "A year," he blurted, coming to the sort of sudden decision for which he was somewhat infamous.

"A year?"

He nodded. "I'll give it a year. If nothing's changed by this time next year then…I'm going to change it myself."

Eyes wide, although with excitement shining in their depths, Carter said, "Are you serious? A year isn't long."

Jack shrugged and tugged her a little closer. "Deadly serious," he murmured. "And a lot can happen in a year."

Gazing up at him with a mixture of disbelief and nervous hope, Sam said, "Then I guess we'll just have to wait and see what fate - or whoever's in charge up there - has in store for us."

"You make your own fate," he told her earnestly. "And one thing's for sure, Sam. If we're not together by the end of this year, then I'm going to do whatever it takes to make sure we can be. Whatever it takes."

Looking away over the yard again, Sam squinted into the sunshine for a long moment before she slowly nodded. "I guess I can live with that."

He still held her hand, and with a gentle tug he pulled her closer. Hesitantly he reached up and traced a finger down her cheek, and she surprised him when she leaned into his touch with a wistful sigh. Encouraged by the longing he saw hidden in her eyes, and with a heart that raced so hard it was beginning to make him light-headed again, Jack leaned closer and brushed a promise of a kiss over her lips. "A year," he whispered tenderly.

"A year," she agreed. And then with a rueful smile she added, "Somehow I think it's gonna be a long one."

He chuckled. "A year at the SGC? When isn't it a long one?" He paused then, becoming more thoughtful. "But whatever they throw at us, we'll handle it. Right? You and me."

She nodded, smiling again. "You and me. I like the sound of that."

"Yeah, me too, Carter," he told her softly. "Me too."


End file.
